


, And Sing

by AthenaBorozon



Category: Original Work, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Gen, Political Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaBorozon/pseuds/AthenaBorozon
Summary: A young woman finds a treasure where none was meant to be left.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lferion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stand, Hold Hands, and Sing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406040) by [lferion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion). 



01.21.17

, and Sing

 

Cheryl counted herself among the luckiest of girls in the USA. Her father had died in an accident right after the start of the War. There was no son to take his place or nearby Uncle

Her mother, Mehgan, had been granted a five-year Independence from re-marriage by the Governor. Mehgan had been forced to stop teaching and take her own child with her to one of the Government cotton farms near T’son. They were allowed to live in an adobe house in the old Downtown area, that had mostly survived the shelling and bombings and abutted the fields. The Conservs only took military action from time-to-time now, mostly for target practice, and considered the former Liberal stronghold under control.

Cheryl was ten years old when Father died so she had grown up with more freedom than most girls her age. She, like her mother, would be married away soon to a man picked in the Lottery and begin anew as did all eligible women not under an*Independence*. She was thinking of the letter that would come soon as she scrabbled up the pile of rubble that used to be the newspaper reading room of the Main Library. Part of an iron-colored sculpture thrust out of the broken stones. She stroked the metal side of the arm for good luck. 

Today she was going to visit the poetry department of the library collection. The books were destroyed for the most part, but she discovered treasures among the singed covers on lucky days. She could read beyond the thirteenth grade and that put her ahead of most who could only read to the fifth grade so they could consume the Government News Services which were mandatory reading on Sunday afternoons. She loved the idea of the ‘rogue’ reporters and writers who speculated about politics and cotton yields and just everything before it was illegal, before the Orange Man became President.

She had a favorite volume that was political poetry. Most from before the Election of ‘17. When freedom of speech was still encouraged and the most courageous writers of the time were active. It was titled: Stand, Hold Hands, and Sing. The cover scarred, but the title was still intact. Inside was the titular poem penned by lferion, of T’son on the day before the Women’s March after the Orange Man was sworn in. It was a rallying call to protest, which Cheryl’s mother had told her of.

Courageous Women standing together in great numbers against the Conservs and their threat to freedoms of all kinds, personal and public or in their homes, supporting their sisters in spirit and writing and singing and making.

Her favorite piece was the titular piece: Stand, Hold Hands, and Sing. The words made her heart soar up into her throat. It was a statement of strength and solidarity such as the USA had not seen since that day of the March. In a can, buried deeply in the dirt floor of the house was a knitted hat in the shape of a cat’s head that her mother had worn to that march.

And on the third day after the Election, like something from the US Bible, the War began with the rounding up of writers and the burning of private writings and books.

The next to the last stanza gave Cheryl such Hope and she always saved it to read last so that she could chant it on her way home. She didn’t dare linger at the library ruins for long.

And we will laugh and love  
Find joy in moments, beauty  
Where it comes, hope like weeds  
Tenacious, rooted deep 

As she held her hand high, imagining it clasped in the hand of another, she sang the only lines she knew from an old, illegal song: " We Shall Overcome". Written by a Man who also believed in freedom and peace.

Mehgan smiled when she saw her daughter come through that door. She hurried to her and took her other hand and stretched it high, joining her in song and a dance that was theirs alone:

We will stand until we fall  
And others take our place  
We will not despair, but strive  
And we will sing, and sing, and sing. 

//

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you lferion for the inspiration both to Stand, Hold Hands, and Sing, but to write.


End file.
